Page 6 of Bound to a Wicked Duke

“Lady Madeleine?” Herbert Mowbray’s voice interrupted her internal tirade.

Madeleine bowed shoulders suddenly snapped erect as she heard his voice and turned to face the interruption. As she did so, she caught sight of a group of older ladies admiring the potted roses on the other side of the veranda. They at least had chaperones.

“My Lord?” she asked politely.

What in the bloody hell do you want, youpompousaristocrat?was the real question she burned to ask.

“Miss Madeleine,” Herbert began again, moving forward to take her hand, “I wish to ask you a question.”

Alarm flared through Madeleine’s nerves as she felt his powdery soft, pale white hand grasp onto hers. Like an animal caught in a trap, she immediately tried to pull away, but despite the limp look of his hands, he was stronger than her and kept her in place with far too much ease for Madeleine’s comfort.

“I have long been an admirer of your grace and beauty,” Herbert persisted, ignoring her startled nature.

He paused to clear his throat then pulled the hand he held to his chest. His smile widened, showing off teeth that looked more horse like than human, and he squeezed her fingers possessively. A chill of disgust ran down Madeleine’s spine as she caught scent of his foul breath, and she looked frantically back toward the roses where the other ladies were now nowhere to be found.

“My father and I have made a decision,” he said, ignoring her discomfort. “We will approach your father for a marriage contract. Congratulations, Lady Madeleine. You are to be my wife.”

Shock coursed through Madeleine’s system as if it were poison, and she was sure her heart had stopped. It was obvious that Herbert was interested in her, but she had thought he would askto call upon her first at the very least. She had thought she had more time!

“No,” she breathed aloud.

Herbert’s eyes narrowed at her as he set his jaw and took a step toward her.

“No?” he asked. “You truly believe you have a choice? Who else would want you, Lady Madeleine? You had an offer or two last year, yes, but with your rather… unconventional looks and poor behavior, you truly think there will be a better proposal come along?”

Embarrassment and shame filled her as she took in Herbert’s words. It was what she had heard from the whisperings all night, but he was the first to say such things blatantly to her face.

Still, through her hurt feelings, she squared her shoulders and asked, “How is such talk supposed to convince me to marry you?”

“I am merely pointing out the truths of why you cannot refuse me,” Herbert countered, his grip now crushing her fingers. “Now put on as pretty of a smile as you can manage and accept my hand!”

“No,” she screeched in panicked protest. She did not care if what he said was true. She did not care that it was possible that every other gentleman in thetonfound her to be ugly or unwanted.

“I do not wish to marry you!” She jerked her hand fiercely from his grasp, feeling the flesh of her knuckles sing with pain as she finally pulled free. “I do not wish to marry anyone!”

She turned, ready to flee, but blackness took up her vision as her nose collided with a solid structure, and she suddenly felt a grip on each of her arms as she was rooted by another’s force to the spot. The hold released her as soon as she was stable, but she still felt the hardened warmth on her arms.

“Ow!”Madeleine seethed, feeling her nose begin to throb as she tried to stumble back.

“Something the matter, Monkey?”

Percy’s deep, familiar voice sent a wave of relief through her, despite her annoyance for his pet name. Madeleine looked up slowly and realized the black wall she’d run face first into was not a wall at all but Percy’s tuxedoed chest. There was no amusement in his eyes this time when she met them, only a look of pure fury that startled her.

“I—”

Percy’s eyes flashed from hers to the man behind her as his grip on her arms loosened, and he moved her behind him, so he could face Herbert.

“Mowbray,” Percy’s stern tone rang out through the lamp lit night in warning. “Whatever made you think you could say such callous things to this poor woman?”

Madeleine gasped with fury.

“Howdareyou, I am not?—”

“Hush darling, the men are talking,” Percy murmured to her, throwing her a small, wicked grin over his shoulder. He then turned back to Herbert, and Madeleine didn’t have to see his face to know that a snarl had replaced his grin.

“I asked you a question,” Percy barked.

Herbert was not what anyone would call an aggressive man. Pompous, of course. Elitist? Absolutely. But as Percy waited for his answer, the man’s face contorted into a snarl.

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